Tom and I taught today, dressed in layers of underwear and outerwear (the temperature is 12 degrees fahrenheit and feels like 5 degrees). We lived in Minnesota fifteen years and so are not strangers to cold weather, much colder than 12 degrees, in fact.
Since menopause, my body is a furnace. I actually like standing out in the frigid air in front of my building, waiting for Tom to pick me up. It was sunny. A cold, sunny day is a fine thing. It's the gray, polluted air that drives some of us insane.
Today was not that kind of day. It was crisp and invigorating. We made a stop at Ikea, found a box of Hatch's hand-dipped chocolates in Tom's briefcase, that we had forgotten about, and ate three a piece sitting in the parking lot.
We drove home exhausted, rode the elevator up, unlocked the door and there it was, warm, quiet, clean and inviting: home. The box of chocolates lie on the table, the lid next to it. I can see the frilly brown paper spilling over the edge of the box. There's still some chocolates left but not for long. Home.